


When Duty Calls

by zooeyscigar



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, drunk boys like to kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 08:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zooeyscigar/pseuds/zooeyscigar
Summary: As the bell for first watch was struck, he grabbed a couple bottles of the good rum from the merchant captain’s stock and headed to Flint’s cabin. His usual soft rap on the door was met with an immediate and hearty request to enter.When he did, he let out an amused huff — his captain already had his feet up on the desk, a bottle of rum in his hand, and a lazy smile on his face.“Gates! Took you long enough, mate.” Flint waved him into the chair across the desk with an indulgent smile.“There was work to do, Captain.” Groaning as he sat, Gates added, “No rest for the wicked.”“Ah, but there is, as I’ve been resting for a good half of this bottle and I’m as wicked as they come.” Flint smiled self-deprecatingly and waved his bottle in a way that indicated, not in how much liquid sloshed, but in the weaving of its path through the air, how much he’d actually drunk.





	When Duty Calls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shakespeareishq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareishq/gifts).



> When your fandom bestie bemoans the lack of a certain ship, it's your duty to help build up the fleet of fics, right?  
> Thanks, Chu, for the nudge! <3

“Told you,” Flint said from the side of his mouth, his elbow in Gates’ ribs.

Gates sighed, mostly for effect, but not fully. “My dear captain, it was I who told you.”

Captain James Flint had managed to capture his biggest prize yet, and not only had it been a successful raid, it had been a bloodless one. The captain of the prize ship had already been searching the rail, looking for the dreaded ginger head before Flint had followed his men aboard to glower and intimidate, both of which seemed superfluous. Flint’s reputation had preceded him. 

So much so that they’d even acquired a few recruits. 

Flint was well on his way to being thought of as The Terror of the High Seas, and it gave Gates an odd thrill — one that felt worryingly similar to that of a proud father — to know it. To see the effects of Flint’s strict leadership onboard and his ruthless daring in the hunt itself. 

Those new recruits came on board with fear of and awe for their captain already ingrained. The more of the crew that was true for, the better for James — for Captain Flint.  

The quartermaster set aside his musings and industriously spent the rest of the day taking inventory and overseeing the storage of their spoils. As the bell for first watch was struck, he grabbed a couple bottles of the good rum from the merchant captain’s stock and headed to Flint’s cabin. His usual soft rap on the door was met with an immediate and hearty request to enter. 

When he did, he let out an amused huff — his captain already had his feet up on the desk, a bottle of rum in his hand, and a lazy smile on his face. 

“Gates! Took you long enough, mate.” Flint waved him into the chair across the desk with an indulgent smile.

“There was work to do, Captain.” Groaning as he sat, Gates added, “No rest for the wicked.”

“Ah, but there is, as I’ve been resting for a good half of this bottle and I’m as wicked as they come.” Flint smiled self-deprecatingly and waved his bottle in a way that indicated, not in how much liquid sloshed, but in the weaving of its path through the air, how much he’d actually drunk. 

When his captain turned maudlin Gates usually poured heavily and joked them through the rough patch into sodden hilarity, but tonight he wouldn’t be able to catch up with half a bottle, and besides, at the moment Flint didn’t seem sentimental as much as he was philosophical. 

“Wicked and fearsome are very different things, Captain,” Gates replied with a soft smile. 

“But to be fearsome, one must do something for men to fear.”

“Or to at least have stories told about things one has done...” 

“Mr Gates! Have you been whispering stories about me behind my back?”

“Not I, sir. I would never. But one or two of the crew have imaginations susceptible to suggestion.” Gates held up his bottle in a mocking salute and Flint laughed and drank with him.

“So, whether I, personally, am a wicked man is still in dispute, but the dreaded Captain Flint has undoubtedly done things to merit that description.”

“Seems that way. He’s a rogue of the fiercest sort, or so I’ve been told...” Gates winked at Flint as he raised the bottle to his lips again, and he was rewarded with a chuckle.

“Well, my friend, I wouldn’t dare argue with that.” 

“I must admit, Captain, I can’t for the life of me believe that you’d done a single immoral thing in your life before becoming a pirate.”

“Immoral is a far cry from illegal, Mr Gates. I have done things for which I would never feel shame that are hanging offenses.” Flint’s eyebrows were innocently high, but his mouth was a hard line. 

Gates paused in his toast and considered Flint’s words. “Well... every man jack has done  _ something _ the law finds fault with, and that’s a fact.” 

“When the law is immoral, good men mustn’t abide by it.”

“Hear hear,” Gates drank to that heartily. 

But Flint wasn’t finished. “When a love is deemed illegal, those who live by it — die for it — must fight for the justice they deserve.”

The cabin was silent as Flint held his bottle aloft as punctuation, then tipped it to his lips, his eyes on the bottle in Gate’s hand.

Gates blinked, then belatedly drank to Flint’s declaration, adding a soft, “Aye.”

The silence settled over them again for an awkward moment, and every second saw a widening gap between them, reflected in Flint’s eyes. Gates hurried to close it. “All love is holy, Captain. Men who prey on those who feel it differently are worse than the sea-scum we crush underneath our boots.”

Flint simply nodded and swallowed, though Gates hadn’t seen him take another sip of rum. His voice was softer, worn thin when he spoke again. “I’m glad to hear you say it.”

This time the silence was such that it could hold them in muted camaraderie, though some itch inside him wouldn’t let Gates leave it that way for long. Softly, softly, he set down his bottle and leaned forward, his voice no more than a low rumble. “You didn’t need me to say it, James. You knew before now.”

It took Flint a moment to drag his eyes away from the rings he was clinking against his bottle, the signet on his little finger tapping an uneven rhythm. “No? Did I?” 

He looked decidedly less drunk than before, the clarity in his green eyes a deep sea dive, but the swivel of his head held a looseness that Gates couldn’t ignore. The captain had soaked in enough rum that this conversation was most likely futile, and possibly would be erased from memory before morning. Much like the last time.

Gates leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

But Flint was now sitting forward, hands steady on the desk, eyes heavy-lidded, expression dangerously close to fond. “I suppose I did know. But then, so did you.”

Gates couldn’t deny it. He’d sworn off lying to his captain after Flint caught him out early on and looked so disappointed it hurt. The man was too perceptive, too intelligent, and too impatient to allow for that sort of nonsense between them. 

“Yes. I’d guessed. One learns to recognize one’s own.”

They’d made the same sorts of confessions to each other before, but only when the captain was so in his cups he could barely speak, let alone remember the next day. This felt... Gates hesitated to say promising, but at least it felt different. 

“Thank you,” Flint said as he slumped in his chair, suddenly looking truly relaxed, as if every posture he’d held before was just the image of repose. “It’s so comforting to be known.”

Poor Captain, he only had two people in the whole Caribbean who he trusted to know anything about him. Gates sometimes still couldn’t believe his luck that he was one of them. 

“It’s an honor to know you, James.” 

They both drank to that, but as the evening wore on, Gates noticed Flint wasn’t keeping up with him, as if he wanted to sober up some, or at least level out, while Gates caught up. They caroused as normal though, telling stories, many of which they’d told before, amusing each other, outdoing each other, which, to Gates, was ever the highlight of drinking with Flint — making him laugh. 

It had never been a difficult thing to do, not for Gates, not in private, but because it never happened around any of the crew, Gates felt like it was his privilege alone, to see his captain lit up in merriment. The warmth that spread through his belly every time was far beyond anything rum had ever managed. 

It grew late, the candles burned down, and still Flint didn’t seem to grow too drunk or too tired for Gates to remain in his cabin. In fact, this was the latest Gates had stayed, except for that one time Flint had gotten so drunk Gates had been afraid to leave him. 

That night, it had been a struggle to get Flint in his bed, and then another struggle to make Flint understand that Gates was not getting in with him. He set up a chair right next to the bunk and sat there all night, Flint having whined pitifully and with slurred speech until Gates gave him his arm to hold. Flint had cradled his forearm like a child does a doll and slept as peacefully the whole night. Gates had dozed in fits and starts and woke with the sun to sneak out of the room before Flint came to and caught him there. 

Later, it had been clear that Flint hadn’t remembered anything about the episode and Gates had been glad of it, once the clawing regret of not curling up around his captain in the bunk had eased. 

But tonight wouldn’t be a repeat of that, as Flint was as sharp as the dagger at his belt, and Gates had only allowed himself to get fuzzy enough to not make himself get up and leave before now. 

Which was why it was all the more surprising when, as Gates retold one of Flint's favorite stories of a rare prize long before they'd met, when Gates was young and Flint himself would have still been a pup, the captain had done something unprecedented.

He rose from his chair, motioning for Gates to continue his story, and removed his jacket, then travelled the room, dousing the candles until only the lantern near his bunk remained.

When he sat down on the bunk and started to tug off his boots, Gates trailed off, unsure of what was expected of him.

Flint looked up with a quizzical expression when Gates fell silent.

“I.. erm, I’m sorry to be going on like this, Captain. I can leave, if you’d like.”

The frown on Flint’s face was more thoughtful than confused as he said, “I would not like. But I wouldn’t keep you if you want to go, Hal.”

It was so rare for Captain Flint to use Gates’ Christian name that hearing it in the darkened room late at night, in as soft a voice as Flint ever used... well it nearly stole Gates’ heart out of his chest.

“But... is it not time for bed, Captain?”

Flint’s smile held equal parts amusement and fondness and Gates’ chest seized up at the sight. “It is, though I was still hoping to hear the end of your story.”

“You’ve heard it a dozen times.”

“Then maybe it’s not the story at all that I wish to hear, but your voice telling it.”

Gates cleared his throat but couldn’t continue. Truthfully, he’d forgotten not only where he was in the story but which one he’d been telling.

“Come closer so I can hear you better, Mr Gates.” Flint patted the mattress next to where he was seated and Gates’ head swam.

He hadn’t been drinking so much that he couldn’t make his way over to the bunk on his own, but at that moment he didn’t trust his legs to carry him. “I’ll speak up, then, shall I?”

Flint pulled his hand off the bunk as if it had stung him and then went very still. “As you wish. But please continue?”

The question at the end of the captain’s sentence hung in the air for a moment as Gates realized it was there to assure him that he was not being ordered to do any of this. He could leave at any time and, as had been said, Flint wouldn’t try to keep him.

But he didn’t want to leave. He never had, not once in all their nights of drinking together.

And so he clasped his hands over his stomach and said, “Right. Where was I?”

“The swans were attacking your bosun and the captain was making ready to set sail without him.”

“Yes, well.” Gates paused as Flint took off his belt and tucked himself into bed, moving back until he was nearly against the wall and leaving a good amount of room in front of him. He lay on his side, presumably so he could watch Gates tell the story, and looked at him expectantly. “Right. So the bosun was screaming bloody murder, because swans are the devil in white and they hiss when they attack with those sharp beaks, and the crew was all in a tizzy because what were the swans even _ doing _ in the hold of a ship for fuck’s sake, and at least one of them — I think it was the recently deposed quartermaster who liked to stir up trouble — yelled something about them being angry demons so of course the superstitious ones nearly fell overboard trying to escape their wrath, and...”

“And you saved the day,” Flint said with a smile in his voice, though Gates could only make out his forehead and the bridge of his nose — the rest of his face was deep in shadow.

“I did my best to salvage the situation.”

“Were they really stolen from the English crown to be sold to wealthy landowners in the colonies?”

“They had no marks on their beaks that I could see, so either they weren’t English at all, or they’d been poached.”

“And swan eggs — are they as delicious as the birds are beautiful?”

“Huge. Filling. A bit gamey.”

Flint snorted in amusement at Gates’ response. “And no one lost a hand trying to get the eggs from the birds?”

“It was a trial. Those birds were the single most troublesome prize to have ever been won. The captain nearly ordered us to drown them all before we reached land.”

“Except they were too valuable. How much did you get for them?”

“The highest price of any prize I’ve been privy to.”

“We’ll match it. Perhaps exceed it. You and I, Hal, will do great things. We’ll put Nassau on the map. We’ll—” Flint broke off in a yawn and Gates pulled himself up to standing, knowing his cue to leave when it was set before him.

“Well, let’s plan for all that tomorrow. Good n—”

“Shake on it?” The hand that was outstretched across the mattress rested palm-up, looking nothing like an offer to shake. Gates meant to ignore the invitation, simply say his goodnight and leave.

But he couldn’t keep himself from approaching the bunk, and the moment he was close enough, Flint was grabbing for him. Even before he was aware of the desire, Gates had taken up Flint’s hand in his own and raised the palm to his lips.

Flint was tugging on Gates’ belt with his other hand, obliging him to sit on the bunk, then curling his own body around Gates’ hips, enveloping them in pressure and heat. Gates continued to focus on the hand he had claimed, the fingers, the heel, the calluses, the mount of venus — nothing escaped exploration with his reverent mouth.

Flint’s other hand continued to maneuver Gates where he wanted him, which proved to be lying on his side in front of his captain, with the man himself clinging tightly to his back, a limpet on the hull of an old, barely seaworthy vessel.

The sigh that escaped his captain when Gates pressed his lips to newly healed knuckles heated the back of his neck and sent a shiver down his spine.

“Don’t go. Please don’t go.” Flint held Gates tight to himself and breathed in his ear. “You always find a way to leave. Please stay this once. I’ll never ask again.”

There were so many reasons why it was a spectacularly bad idea to give Captain Flint what he requested of you. Multiple of those reasons centered around the fact that when you gave it to him, he just demanded more and more until you had to put your foot down — both feet down, sometimes. He was the embodiment of the maxim:  _ give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. _ He was incorrigible and impossible to control, and it was by sheer charm and heavy doses of both outright and covert manipulation that Gates was ever able to either avoid an order or make Flint to do anything he didn’t wholeheartedly want to do.

And yet.

The simple act of  _ asking _ rather than demanding or ordering, the repetition of the word ‘please’, both managed to completely undo Gates.

“Captain —  _ James.”  _ He couldn’t make himself turn to look at his captain. Instead he let his lips brush against the back of Flint’s hand with every word he spoke. “I’d do absolutely anything you asked. You’ve only ever had to say the word.”

The hot breath in his ear stopped, and Gates filled the silence with a soft nip at each of Flint’s fingers. After what seemed like way too long for someone to hold their breath, Gates felt more than heard a plea he’d never thought would come from his captain’s mouth: “Kiss me?”

For a moment, Gates thought his heart had stopped and that was the end of him. Then it started up again, double speed and three times as hard, and he had no will to resist when Flint tugged gently on his shoulder to turn him onto his back.

When Gates found the courage to open his eyes, Flint was smiling down on him with a fond quirk to his lips, his beard looking softer and more red than ever before in the low light.

Gates reached up to brush his fingertips against Flint’s jaw, and it made the captain purr — there was no other word for it — a low rumble of pleasure in his chest that vibrated against Gates’ side.

“Well... If you won’t, then I will,” Flint half-whispered with a smile as he slowly, gently bowed his head towards Gates’.

Breathless and dizzy with both want and fear, Gates backed up against the mattress until he could feel Flint’s breath on his lips. At which point he could no longer resist the pull of his own desire and pressed up against Flint’s mouth hard and needy. Possibly too hard, honestly, because Flint grunted in either surprise or pain, but he didn’t back off, thank God.

In fact, Flint growled and crowded into Gates’ space, enveloping him completely in the heat and heaviness and reek of him — rum and sweat and salt and need.

It was glorious — everything Gates had ever feared it would be. Flint’s hunger was feral but he was precise in exacting pleasure, and lavish in bestowing it. Gates had never been so thoroughly kissed in his life. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed this particular pleasure, it had been so long. He found himself holding onto Flint’s nape, more to steady himself than to keep Flint close, because his captain didn’t seem to want to go anywhere — or do anything — else.

Which was grand, because Gates’ own barometer of desire was sluggish to rise these days, and he may have been needy for Flint’s touch and closeness and care, but it seemed that was the extent of his pining. He could have been happy to kiss James Flint for the rest of his life and not require anything more.

Except for the complication of Flint being his fucking captain.

Had he been any other member of the crew it wouldn’t have been as bad, but the quartermaster’s entire purpose was to hold the captain accountable and take him to task on behalf of the crew when necessary. Objectivity was a must in this work, and what they were engaging in was the quickest path to losing that necessity.

Once his thirst for Flint’s mouth was mostly sated, Gates remembered all of this and reluctantly pulled back. “Fucking hell, Captain.”

“James,” Flint gasped against Gates’ mouth, giving him no quarter, moving in for another sharp kiss. “Please, Hal. No titles in bed.”

“I can’t, Captain. I’m sorry.”

Flint backed off, his face a storm of outrage and insecurity. “Can’t what, exactly?”

Gates attempted to sit up, and Flint nearly sprung off the bunk, once again stung.

“It’s not that I don’t want it — want you...” Gates would have followed Flint to the corner of the room if he thought it would help, but he looked like a cornered dog, so that was the wrong move.

No, a cat, back up and hissing.

“But?” he spat out, smoothing his tousled hair from his face.

“ _ And... _ ” Gates held up his hands in surrender but it seemed to make Flint more furious so he let them fall to his lap. “It’s my job to not be under your control in any way and I just...” He felt so hopeless and disgusting to say such a thing, but it was true.

“Resign.”

Gates looked sharply at Flint’s wrecked face and shook his head. “You don’t want that. I don’t want that. It’s by far the worst thing for this crew. They would never hear of it, for one. And two, is there any other man for the job that you wouldn’t chew up and spit out within a week?”

Flint’s shoulders fell and he leaned heavily against the wall. “No, because I don’t respect a single one of them.”

“Exactly.”

“So...” When he looked up at Gates his face was two degrees from despair and Gates’ heart felt like it was ripping open. “We can’t do this? Can’t have this — this little slice of peace? One  _ sliver _ of pleasure in this harrowing, hellish life?”

“Not if it means I lose perspective, start bowing to your whims, let you—”

“I’ll give you full control in bed, then. However you want it.” Flint’s hands flitted before him in an agitation Gates had never before seen. “Not when, that I’ll need to choose, but what we do can be your—”

“James, please. I...” How could he say this and not sound foolish or insulting? “I’m an old dog now, and honestly, I never was one who went in for the carnal...”

The expression on Flint’s face looked as though it was morphing between shocked and disgusted, but Gates had to admit he was never good at understanding Flint’s mind. He could have just been confused. After all, Gates wasn’t making much sense.

He stood and took a couple steps towards his captain, a hand stretched out in offering, and apologized, “I just... I don’t want any more than this.” He pointed to Flint’s mouth, then his own, indicating what they’d just been doing.

“Well then...” Flint laughed softly, tension leaving his body. “That’s easy enough. You can have that, surely?”

“It’s not the prospect of submitting my body to your will that I worry will cloud my judgment,” he stepped close enough to rest his hand on Flint’s chest, “but what being with you like this will do to my heart.”

Flint’s face fell, the relief vanishing and his expression landing somewhere foreign to Gates. Was it pity? Would James Flint pity him for the way he felt? How soft his insides became when this man who he cared for — who we was willing to work and fight and die for — showed him that there could be tenderness between them?

Gates closed his eyes and began to pull away, but Flint’s softest voice stopped him. “All right.”

He pressed a hand over Gates’ which still rested on his own sternum, saying, “All right, my friend. You keep your heart shuttered in your chest, and I’ll continue tending to the convalescence of my own. But—” he stepped closer, a fond smile curling his kiss-blurred lips, “—would it be all right if we kept each other company once in a while? Just a bit of warmth for our aging bodies, no more than that.”

_ Give him an inch... _

Sighing at how lost he already was to this man, Gates smiled ruefully and nodded. “Once in a  _ long  _ while, yes. All right.”

Flint’s smile blossomed into a triumphant grin as he added, “And you’ll stay tonight, yes?”

Gates dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head at himself. “Yes.”

What could only be described as a joyful giggle escaped the dreaded Captain Flint and he wrapped his arms around his quartermaster and walked them both clumsily back to bed. “Lovely. Where were we?”

The swinging bunk slammed into the backs of Gates legs and he sat down hard, with Flint stumbling and causing them both to land flat on the mattress, James on top, both of them wheezing in merriment.

“You’ll be the death of me, Captain.” Gates reached up and tucked a stray strand of red hair behind Flint’s pink ear, an adoring, foolish smile stretching his face muscles.

“I sincerely hope not, Mr Gates,” Flint crooned, pressing his own smile to Gates’. “Here’s to a long and prosperous partnership.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Gates said through a chuckle as he tugged Flint closer and had his fill of his captain’s perfect, luscious mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm zooeyscigar over on Tumblr, come say hi! :D


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